The Necklace's Quest
by Raablyn
Summary: I'm abandoning this for the moment . . . feel free to read it, but it's gotten really boring for me, and it sounds too much like Brothers MAjere only on a lesser scale, so don't expect any new chapters for a while. Maybe one or two when I get some things
1. In the Morning

_Disclaimer: I do not own DRAGONLANCE nor do I own any of Weis's and Hickman's characters, I'm not geniuses like them, despite my fantasies. _

_This story takes place in the Soulforge: Raist and Caramon are six, Raist takes magic lessons from Theobald, and Kit–who is fourteen–hasn't started serious traveling. The three get caught in a complex web of magic, Takhisis, a strange and stupid city, blah blah, just read it! _

_Note: yes, I've read _Brothers Majere _and you'll find that Hanilakin is a lot like Mereklar. And, yes, I've also read Dark Heart, some stuff appears from there, too._

_Oh, and the Xs stand for where there are swears, my mother has a habit of reading over my shoulders, don't wanna get gorunded. You understand._

Chapter One

"Cheep, cheep, cheep!"

Raistlin Majere yawned, stretching his small, skinny arms and legs out of the curled-up ball he usually slept in, rolling over so that he faced the wall. Dang birds, the six-year-old thought groggily, still half-asleep. Opening his large, brown eyes halfway, Raistlin saw the dark blue sky through the small window on the wall. Still only thirty minutes or so before sunrise. Trust birds to wake up _now_.

Raistlin rolled out of bed, rubbing the last of sleep from his eyes, padding gently over to his parent's room, peeping in through the curtains. Gilon was pulling on his boots, oblivious to his small son's watching eyes. Rosamun was asleep–or as asleep as she ever was–lying in bed, her auburn hair messily fanned out over the pillow like she had been thrown mercilessly from the air onto the small bed. Her eyes were shut, her face grim and wan, the flesh melted from her face, leaving her cheeks hollow and shadowed along the high cheek bones. Her thin lips were drawn in a tight line, colorless and pressed together as if in pain or determination. Gilon glanced worriedly at his wife's face, as if asking himself if she was really the laughing, gentle woman he'd fallen in love all those years ago.

Raistlin glanced back at his twin's bed. Caramon was spread across it, one leg over the side, an arm tossed across the pillow, the other leg bent at the knee, the other arm hugging his shoulder, the hand clenched in a small fist. Curly, unruly golden–brown hair fell across his forehead, dripping teasingly into the boy's eyes. He looked well asleep-good. Raistlin turned back to watching his parents.

Now Gilon was tugging on his jacket, heading for the curtain . . .

Raistlin, moving as quickly as his small legs would let him, dived for the bed, tugging on the covers over the frail body, leaving his eyes open only a sliver underneath his lashes.

Gilon leaned over Caramon, kissing him swiftly on the forehead, pushing the curly hair out of his eyes. "You be a good boy and take care of your mother and brother. They need you." Caramon nodded slightly, sleepily, then was still.

Raistlin's body stiffened as the words reached his ears, striking straight and painful to the little boy's head. His small hand curled into fists, his body went taunt, fury burned three words only in his thoughts: _they need you_! He didn't _need_ Caramon! And _he_ took care of Rosamun–not Caramon! _Trust Gilon to give his favorite son all the credit!_ he thought jealously, anger, and pain fusing together to give him a coppery, bitter taste in his mouth as the cynical thought circled around and around his head.

He forced himself to lay still as Gilon kissed him swiftly on the cheek, then headed outside with Amber, his faithful dog. Raistlin waited until the distant, hollow echoes of his father's footsteps faded away into the heavy, sleepy silence that was occasionally punctured with the cheery cry of an inconsiderate bird, then he ran to the door, checking to see if Gilon's dark, big shadow could still be seen through the early morning mist. It wasn't, and Raistlin stood still for a minute, checking to see if Gilon was coming back, then went to his side of the bed. There the little boy pulled on a pair of patched pants, a shirt that was too big for his thin body, hugged to his chest by a tight, patched leather vest. He then wondered, what should I do?

Raistlin wasn't hungry–that was Caramon's field. Rosamun was still asleep-no chance of entertainment there- but maybe Kit could provide some amusement.

Raistlin climbed the ladder that led to his sister's loft, then paused to look at Kitiara. At fourteen, her dark, crisp curls framed a tanned oval of a face–appropriate, considering her crisp, cool demeanor. But it was her face that enticed Raistlin the most: her eyes were gently closed, her lips slightly smiling, her face was warm, sweet, and gentle; it had none of her cool, practical look that she had adapted over the years. He stood a long minute, staring down at her face, tracing the details in her mind so that when he closed his eyes, he could see her face as clearly as he could now: gentle, sweet, soft, warm. Such knowledge may be to his advantage in years to come. He added the mental picture with her warm laugh and dark eyes, creating the elder sister he so missed when she was away. But Raistlin had other pictures too–a big sister's angry hand striking, her young face set in dark, angry, grim lines when she yelled at Caramon for staying out to late, or, more commonly, when she bashed an offending teaser head-over-heals with her sharp, heavy wooden sword.

Raistlin shrugged, dismissing all the thoughts that tormented his sleep, twisting his dreams to nightmares, and reached out with a slender, boney finger and jabbed his sister sharply between the shoulders.

She groaned, the sweet face he'd seen seconds earlier growing cold and slightly confused as his cold little finger pierced through the layers of sleep which she had been nestled in seconds earlier. Pulling the quilt up to her chin, she curled her long legs to her chest in an effort to keep warm.

"G'way." she snapped sleepily as he poked her again, and again. "Ca'mon! Go away!" Now a little less than half awake, she rolled over, peering at her little brother through half-closed eyelids. As she saw, not Caramon, as she had expected, but Raistlin, her eyes opened farther, widening in surprise. He suppressed a smile: he had caught her unaware, off-guard. It felt good.

"Raistlin?" Kitiara asked sharply, having recovered-probably due to her brother's amused almost-smile-and reached out, smacking him lightly across the head. "Don't do that, it's midnight!"

"Almost sunrise." he corrected, but softly. Kit didn't like to be corrected.

She had heared his words, the sleep still tugging at her eyes and mind making her irritated. "OK, almost sunrise, then. But that still doesn't answer why the heXX are you up?"

"The birds woke me." He answered truthfully, watching her face closely.

She snorted. "Trust birds to wake up Baby Brother!" Briskly tossing the blankets aside, she rose from her bed, shivering slightly in the coolness. "Brrr." Grabbing a shirt and leggins, she yanked them on over her nightclothes.

He wasn't paying attention. Bored, Raistlin studied her room, though he'd seen it a thousand times. A cot lay beneath the small window, a drawer besides that, a table wedged in the corner. The window was dusty, as was the tops of the furniture: Kit did not dust. Several pieces of clothing, dripping on the chair smashed on the table and drawers, or simple lying under the bed or smack in the middle of the room, forgotten, proved her tidyness.

Raistlin's thoughts were inturrupted by Kit. "C'mon." She grabbed his arm, pulled him down the ladder. "Lets wake up Caramon, shall we?"

Without waiting for an reply she left him at the bottom of the ladder, heading for the kitchen. She came back with a soaking wet rag, which she let Raistlin feel. He shivered slightly: the water was _cold_. "Drop this on Little Brother's eyes, this'll wak'im up for sure." She said professionally, chuckling. Then she smacked the rag straight on Caramon's face with a sharp _slap._

"Aieeee!" Caramon cried out, grabbing the rag and snatching it off his face. Jumping up on the bed, he balled his fists, still clutching the rag, which caused water to run down his arm in tiny rivers, and assumed a boyish glare. He stopped, however, when he saw Kit laughing boisterously and Raistlin's mouth tugging at a smile as he pondered his brother's stupidity.

"Oh, c'mon." Caramon whined playfully, chucking the rag at Kit. She flung it right back, and the two commensed to rag-fight.

"Ohhh. . . " a low moan excelled into several high-pitched screams from Rosamun's room. "Ayiiiiiiiii! Ayiiiiiiiii! AYIIIIIIII!"

Kit and Caramon immeadiately stopped fighting: or, at least, Raistlin presumed such. He had turned and ran into his mother's room. What he saw chilled him inside and out.

Rosamun's face was white, tigned grey, her eyes flung open, the faded irises all but gone, swallowed by the dilated dark pupils. Her thin, bony hands clutched the blankets in horror: her mouth was open, the lips drawn apart and bleeding from a cut in the middle. The thin trickle of red fell from her lip and snaked slowly down her chin, the only color in her pale face. A scream tore from her wasted, wounded body, though of terror or pain, none could say. Her hands went flaccid, slid off the covers, as she panted for breath. As another moan racked her body, her fingers dug into the palms, creating eight small trails of blood on the sheets. Her eyes were fixed upon whatever she saw, if she saw at all.

"Oh, shXt!" Kit cursed, hurrying to her mother's side. Caramon ran into the room, took one look at Rosamun, and retreated to a corner, terrified. Raistlin, too, hurried to Rosamun's side.

"It's OK, Mother!" Raistlin whispered, chilled with horror. "It's OK . . . there's no one there . . . it's OK, Mama . . . " His voice trailed off, choked slightly. Kitiara grabbed her mother's shoulders and shook her-hard. "Shut up, you witch! You're scaring your kids, what kind of mother are you? Shut up, witch! Shut up!"

"Mother, it's all right, Mama, it's all right!"

Caramon was shaking in the corner. Raistlin paid no attention whatsoever. He grabbd his mother's hand, clutching it hopelessly, begging. "It's all right, Mother! It's all right . . . Mama, come home . . . stop it, Mother, come home . . . please come home, Mother . . . "

"Shut up, you witch!" Kit slapped Rosamun's mouth, shaking her hard as the unearthly wailing continued.

"Mother . . . "

Suddenly, silence.

_Yeah, I know, cliffhanger. Will get next chapter soon, don't worry, adventurous stuff happends, unlike this friggin' one. But my mother's yelling at me to get to bed, so, hope you like it! R&R!_


	2. The Strange Necklace

_Disclaimer: I do not own DRAGONLANCE nor do I own any of Weis's and Hickman's characters, I'm not geniuses like them, despite my fantasies. _

_This story takes place in the Soulforge: Raist and Caramon are six, Raist takes magic lessons from Theobald, and Kit–who is fourteen–hasn't started serious traveling. The three get caught in a complex web of magic, Takhisis, a strange and stupid city, blah blah, just read it! _

_Note: yes, I've read _Brothers Majere _and you'll find that Hanilakin is a lot like Mereklar. And, yes, I've also read Dark Heart, some stuff appears from there, too._

_Oh, and the Xs stand for where there are swears, my mother has a habit of reading over my shoulders, don't wanna get grounded. You understand._

_Chapter Two_

_The Necklace._

Raistlin sighed, leaning over the rail of a "street". It had been a long morning.

After Rosamun had stopped screaming she had began to whimper, which drove Kitiara crazy. She had dragged a wet cloth across her mother's lips and palms, slapped her face, and stomped out of the room in a fury. Raistlin then had fetched a clean cloth, bandaged his mother's cut palms, wiped her face, shielded her dilated eyes against the sunrise, and cleaned the cut on her lip, all the while listening for her every moan and whimper, all the while whispering "It's OK, Mama, it's OK."

Mama. The six-year-old's lips twisted into a grim smile. When was the last time he'd called Rosamun 'Mama'? Not since he was a very young child, before Rosamun started having her serious fits. Kit had instructed them to call Rosamun either 'Mother' or simply 'Rosamun'. He didn't even know where the term had come from, but it seemed to calm her.

It was always like this. When Rosamun had one of her trances, Raistlin had the terrible feeling that she was running away from her family, from Solace, from the world, running happily down the road, not because she wanted to leave, but because she simply did not know of their existence. If he could just cry a little longer, call a little louder, grab her a little harder, she'd remember and come back home to them.

But no matter how long he cried, how loud he called, how tightly he grabbed, she never came home. She could never truly come home. Never.

And he had ran out of the room.

His grim thoughts were interrupted, as always, by Caramon.

"Hey, Raist, come here! Breakfast!" Caramon waved as cheerily as he could to his twin. Both knew he was faking. Both didn't really care.

"I'm coming, Caramon." Raistlin called, turning from the rail and treading back to the forlorn, slovenly kept little house. With every step the bridge swayed slightly. The morning mist-which still hadn't cleared up-wet his hair and face, dampening his clothes. It was going to rain. He hurried to Caramon, shuddering slightly with a little dread.

Rosamun was seated in her rocking chair, showing no signs of her previous state. Her face was still pale, but the lips were smiling slightly, her eyes were fixed in a realm only she could see, and she was humming in a eerie, low voice. Raistlin's eyes fell to his mother's bandaged hands, and he shuddered. She was 'knitting'. Stepping closer, he could see the red marks upon her face where Kitiara had slapped her. He turned away.

Kit was making breakfast, setting out bread and cheese and heating water for 'mush', which consisted of a mixture of ground wheat, potatoes, ground corn, oats, and whatever else she could scrounge up. Her dark curls were matted and tangled with the heat and steam from the pot and the mist that was currently making itself at home in the small house.

"Shut that door! Do you want it to get any colder in here?" She snapped in Caramon's direction, anger making her moody. Caramon silently shut it.

"Hey, kids, c'mere." She called, waving a hand sharply in their direction. Raistlin and Caramon trudged over, looking gloomy and downcast. She pointed to the water. "Raist, you watch that pot and tell me when it boils. Caramon, toast this bread." Seeing their glum faces, she waved in Rosamun's direction and said "She scare you, huh?"

"Yes." Caramon admitted honestly.

Raistlin was silent. Yes, at times, Mother _did_ scare him, but he wasn't going to tell Kit that. No.

"Don't let her scare you, she's just an old witch." Kitiara said loftily, casting Rosamun a scalding look. Both Caramon and Raistlin flinched slightly at the harsh words. "Listen, when you're old enough, we'll get out of here. I'll take you, up North. I'll be the commander of armies, Caramon, you'll be a general, and Raistlin will be one too, if you want."

Caramon brightened up. Raistlin was still silent, watching Kit intensely. She had spoken not to them but to the mixture that she was beating severely. Raistlin could see her cheeks flush slightly and her eyes brighten just a little, with excitement and-what? Anticipation?

"Water's boiling." he informed her.

They ate their breakfast in silence, broken occasionally by Rosamun's singing and conversations with someone that wasn't there. Caramon and Kit consentraited on their food, whereas Raistlin was silent, occupied with his thoughts.

"Well." Kit said, sitting back. Wicking her bowl off the table, she placed it at the sink. Caramon, who had also finished, mimicked her, nearly dropping his bowl in the proccess. Raistlin caught in and washed both bowels while Caramon dryed and Kit cleaned out the pot she'd used.

"It's a nice day out." Kit glanced out at the 6:30 sky, which wa beganning to unmist, warming up considerably. "You go out and play." Giving Raistlin a push, she practiacally threw him out the door. Caramon tagged behind.

"It looks like a nice day, doesn't it, Raist?" He asked cheerfully, putting his arm around his twin. "No, it doesn't." Raistlin snapped back, sliding away from Caramon's touch. Caramon shrugged and the two reached the ground, heading for the Lake.

Caramon dug for clams-despite Raistlin's comment on how clams did not live here-while Raistlin hunted the edge of the Lake for interesting plants or fish. The sun was steadily climbing when he tripped over something half-buried in the sand.

"Ouch!" He cried, landing in the scratchy sand, banging his elbow on a rock and scraping his knee through the leggings.

"ShXt!" cried Caramon, hurrying to his brother. "Are you all right?"

Raistlin glared at Caramon. Was he all right, with a banged elbow and scraped knee? Of course not!

"Yes, Caramon, I'm all right." He said, biting the words. Caramon's face brightened: he obviously hadn't heared the sarcasm. Shaking his head, Raistlin pulled himself to his feet, then turned. "I tripped, that's all." Kneeling, he inspected the object that had tripped him.

It was a stone.

The stone was long, a sort of oval that went down, made of a sort of clear crystal with what appeared to be black smoke or mist trapped in it. At the middle, nearly hidden by the dark fog, was a sapphire in the shape of a cresent moon. Bringing it closer, Raistlin could see tiny silver runes on the sapphire and the top of the stone, which was set in silver. Yanking it out of the ground, he saw that it was a necklace strung on a fine silver chain with a black clasp. Holding it in his hand, Raistlin felt the cool crystal and almost a warmth, coming from the black smoke, through the crystal-or was it glass?

Entriced, Raistlin placed the necklace in a small pocket that he used to gather small samples of rock and plants, when above him came a loud warrior scream.

"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGH A-A-ARRRRRGH!"

_Yeah . . . my second chapter . . . I'm not posting the third until I get at least three reviews! Muhahahahaha! _

_Anyway, told ja stuff would happen. Please review!_


	3. The Necklace in Action

_Disclaimer: I do not own DRAGONLANCE nor do I own any of Weis's and Hickman's characters, I'm not geniuses like them, despite my fantasies._

_This story takes place in the Soulforge: Raist and Caramon are six, Raist takes magic lessons from Theobald, and Kit–who is fourteen–hasn't started serious traveling. The three get caught in a complex web of magic, Takhisis, a strange and stupid city, blah blah, just read it!_

Note: yes, I've read Brothers Majere _and you'll find that Hanilakin is a lot like Mereklar. And, yes, I've also read Dark Heart, some stuff appears from there, too._

Oh, and the Xs stand for where there are swears, my mother has a habit of reading over my shoulders, don't wanna get gorunded. You understand.

Chapter Three

The Necklace in Action

A heavy weight fell on Raistlin, pinning him to the ground. A 'ooph' from Caramon told him the same thing had happened to his twin.

Raistlin twisted around to see his attacker–a burly boy of about fifteen, with ham-sized fist,large pink face, small, squinty piggy eyes, and a lot of round brown freckles that stood out on his pinky face. Oh, no. _Them_.

"Lemme go, Speckleface."He snapped, recognizing Bronk Wister, the son of the local tanner and one of Kitiara's teasers–before she quite literally kicked his XXX. Though Raistlin tied to sound cool and calm, his voice shook ever so slightly.

"Aww, is ou lil' boy _cry-ying._" Dune, Bronk's little brother, leered in a high, whiny voice.

"Let him go!" Caramon, from under Dune, half-dug into the ground.

"Aww, look, Caramon's sticking up for his baby brother!" Bronk jeered mocking.Reaching out, he caught a strand of Raistlin's brown hair and yanked it–hard.Raistlin cried out, in spite of himself.

"He's not my baby brother, you damisch idiot!" Caramon snarled, angry that the bullies would dare hurt his twin.

Raistlin would have said more or less that, had his face not just been shoved into the sand.

Both he and Caramon were tied down while Dune and Bronk happily shifted through their possessions.

"Aw! Lookit this!" Dune, rifling in Caramon's pockets, pulled out a copper coin. Gloating, he handed it to Bronk, and the two sneered at the twins. Raistlin, twisting himself around, winced as the roped scraped his arms as he curled himself in a position so he could hear and see all. By wiggling his arm, he managed to slip his hand into his pocket and clutch the strange stone on the necklace.

Bronk, having finished with Caramon, turned and leered at the helpless boy. "Time to see if the squirt has anything good." He guffawed rudely. Bending over, he breathed directly in Raistlin face. Raistlin grimaced, squirming away from the fat boy's touch. "Touch me and you will regret it." He hissed.

Bronk drew back, slightly surprised. So was Raistlin, for that matter. Though the words had raced through his brain on numerous occasions, he hadn't planned on voicing them. He knew very well that Bronk could beat the shXt out of him, and he needed his body tomorrow. The words had just slipped out. But, more than the words, was the tone that surprised Raistlin. The tone held true threat, true menace, and true hate. The stone beneath his grip grew slightly warmer.

But Bronk recovered swiftly. "Oh, you are, ain'tcha? How _wunderbar_." His eyes traveled from Raistlin's face to his arm–and hand. Too late Raistlin saw his mistake, and he cursed his own stupidity. He hadn't meant to call attention to the necklace. Just the opposite.

"Oh, what've we got here?" Grasping Raistlin's arm, he tugged it roughly out of the pocket, and started slightly as his small eyes caught sight of the fine silver chain. "A neckie, isn't it? Well, why should a poor bad baby boy like_ you_"–he sneered the word scornfully, sending bolts of white-hot angry through Raistlin's small body–"have a fine'n'fancy neckie when a honest, hard-working lad like me doesn't. Ain't fair, I say. You must've stole it from a fancy rich lady. Well, I'ma gonna 'give it back to her', if ya know what I mean." Bronk's grinned greedily at Raistlin, showing of his chipped yellow teeth and awful breath, nearly gagging him. "In fact, that's what I'm gonna tell my Pa. 'Raisty Majere, that bad baby boy, stole some fancy Frau's necklace and I got it back for her. Well, what can you expect, the mama being crazy and all?" The last remark was directed at Dune.

"Looks like it runs in the family!" Dune chimed in harshly. "Eh, Baby Boy? You crazy like your mama? I bet you are, insan'ty 'runs in th' blood', that's what my Mama says."

Fury, fury at the injustice and simple hate for the rough, greedy bullies clashed together to spark a terrible fire that burned within Raistlin, turning the brown eyes cold and hard. "It's _mine_." He hissed, barely above a whisper. "I found it." Like they'd care, he thought bitterly.

He was right.

"Yeah, right!" Dune squealed. "And now its ours!" Bronk grabbed Raistlin's wrist, forcing the small fingers off the stone. Raistlin watched in agony, helpless as the precious necklace fell, once again, to rest on the sand. Bronk grabbed it and spun it in front of Raistlin's face, laughing cruelly. Caramon, watching, clenched his fists and bared his teeth.

Then the stone began to glow.

It was a blue glow, as sapphire as the jewel at the center of the stone. They all watched as the glow spread up the chain, creeping. Raistlin, the nearest, could feel a burning chill emitting from the glow.

Bronk and Dune watched in terror, Caramon amazement, and Raistlin with an odd sense of vindictive excitement and foreboding.

The light went up–it was becoming brighter–and up–you couldn't see the chain through the glow–and up–Bronk was breaking out in a severe sweat now–and up–it was nearing his hand– and up–Raistlin watched, the feeling of foreboding growing steadily larger–and up–it was almost touching Bronk's grasping hand–and . . !

The light made contact with Bronk's fingers.

"OWWWW!" Screamed Bronk, waving his hand wildly in the air. Frantically he tried to pull his fingers away from the light, straining with all his beefy strength. "OHHH . . . " He cried as the light engulfed his entire hand.

Bronk began to dance around, shaking his hand hopelessly, frantically. Dune cowed back in fear, whimpering slightly. Caramon's face was all shock, his mouth agape. Raistlin could not help feeling triumphant, though her had no idea why.

Suddenly, it stopped.

Raistlin watched, as if in a dream, as the terrible, beautiful necklace fell from Bronk's empty fingers, fingers that were now white and limp. He watched it hit the ground. He watched the terror on Bronk's and Dune's faces. He stood up, crawling to his feet, noticing as he did so that the ropes binding him and Caramon were gone, burned away if the ashes on their clothes proved true.

He bent down to pick the necklace up . . .

Bronk screamed and ran away as fast as his fat piggy legs could, Dune nearly tripping over his brother's feet. Caramon cried out, scrambling to his feet in an effort to stop Raistlin from reaching the dangerous necklace.

Raistlin payed attention to none of this, though. All the little boy's attention was on the necklace in the sand. His small, slender fingers curled around the stone, and as they did so a feeling both familiar and foreign raced through his fingers, tingling around his wrist and sliding up his arm. It was both cold and hot, pleasurable and painful. Raistlin had the feeling that, once again, something about the stone just wasn't right . . .

"Put that down, Raist! It's dangerous!" Caramon, ever worried, ran up to his twin, regarding the necklace with open hostility.

"No." Raistlin said, quietly yet firmly. "It won't harm me, Caramon." Even as he spoke the words, wondering why he had just told Caramon something that he had no idea was true, he just _knew_ it was true. A shudder of icy fear, laced with an intoxicating excitement, raced through his veins.

"How do you know?"

"I–I _know_, Caramon, let that be enough for you!" The feeling of fear and excitement had vanished, leaving him feeling irritated and–what? Disappointed? Raistlin shook his head scornfully at himself. What had he expected the stone to be–a magic amulet? It was a _stone_–nothing more, nothing less.

"It's just a stone, my brother. Nothing more, nothing less." He said over his shoulder to Caramon as he began to walk away rather quickly, making Caramon hurry to catch up.

"You sure?" Caramon still eyed the necklace distrustfully.

"Yes, I'm sure! Now c'mon, lets go!"

"OK, Raist." Caramon replied cheerfully, undaunted by his brother's sharp words. Picking up a stick, he made a few ridiculous passes with it in the air, nearly smacking Raistlin in the process.

"Watch it!" Raistlin snapped, ducking to avoid his brother's stick.

"Sorry." Caramon lowered his stick a little, then dg it into the ground, watching it trail in the dust behind him. "Can't wait to tell Kit 'bout that weird stone-thingy."

Raistlin stiffened, then turned, wheeling around so fast that Caramon froze. "You will not tell Kit about this, nor will you tell anyone! Ever!"

"Aw, but–"

"No one." Raistlin replied softly, staring at Caramon intently.

"OK, OK." Caramon, a little miffed at his twin's viper tongue, ducked his head. "Why?" he asked suddenly.

"Because–" Raistlin didn't know why. Why should he not tell Kit about his find? Maybe it was his imagination, but he could fell the weight of the stone quite distinctly in his pocket. "Because, my brother, it's–a secret. Maybe I'll give it to Kit to sell someday. Maybe I'll cut it open to see if there's a ghost inside. And besides, Kit might take it. So don't tell."

"OK, Raist." Caramon, his mind clear, skipped ahead to pounce on dandelions and scare a disgruntled squirrel.

Raistlin was silent. Looking down, he could see the necklace through the top of his pocket. Maybe it was his imagination, but as he reached in a finger to stroke it wonderingly he had the odd feeling that the stone was pleased.

And, in the very back of his mind, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he could hear the sound of dark, sultry, triumphant laughter.

_Reviews, as always, are welcome._

_Danke for previous readers & reviewers._


	4. A Shriek in the Dark

_I own nothing, ya hear?_ _If I did, would I really be writing these short, kinda dumb fics for your entertainment? You know this, so just read. Oh, and the poem bit comes from "Life". See "LM&S revised (ch. 2) for full poem. And the message is in Russian, but I think the computer's whack so it turned out all . . . well, you'll see. Translated directly it makes absolutely no sense so read to find out what it says. Enjoy!_

A Shriek In The Dark

It had been a week since Raistlin found the necklace.

He had said nothing to Kit, nor had Caramon. For some reason, he didn't want her to know. His naturally dark, secretive nature, he thought with bitterness. But there was something more. . .

He was begging to feel like someone was always watching him, always behind him, always a step ahead of him. Any thoughts that raced across his head, he had the odd feeling were being read, and this gave him an angry sense of violation. The result was that he was more snappy and sarcastic with Caramon than usual.

But that was before the nightmares came . . .

_He was alone, all alone. There was no one beside him, no one behind him, no one ahead of him._ _All he could see was colorless, and yet a million colors at once. He looked down and saw that he was standing on nothing . . . _

_He was falling, falling through emptiness, nothingness, into a colorless void. Down, down, down, down._ _He was shrieking, but no one heard, no one would ever hear. At the sorner of his eye, he could see Caramon, Kitiara, Rosamun, Gilon, everyone he had ever met, everyone he had ever known, and he screamed out to them, reached out to them. But they could not hear him over the wailing of the wind, the wailing of the wind that was rushing, rushing over his feet and legs and hands and arms and face, up his chin, into his mouth, ripping the screams away from his tongue and flinging them away._

_Up his nose, stifling his breath so that he gasped, gasped and choked painfully for air._

_Into his eyes, flailing back his lids and hair and running through every single strand, standing it on end. And yet the wind rushed higher._

_And it was not wind at all but water, cool water, calm water, terrifying, wonderful, dark, awful . . . awesome . . . horrible . . . _

_And then it was not water or wind but somewhere between mist and smoke, blacker than night. And, gleaming at the center of the awful mist-smoke, was a shining sapphire __light_

_And still he screamed as, echoing in his ears, resounding in his very soul, a woman laughed darkly, triumphantly._

"Raist! Raist, wake up!"

Raistlin sat up quickly, his eyes open and terrified, a scream in his throat. He quickly snapped his mouth shut.

"Are you OK, Raist?"

"Am I ever OK, Caramon!? No! Go back to sleep, you'll need it in the morning!"

"OK, Raist."

Raistlin, sitting up in bed, watched the red moon, Lunitari, fly slowly, gracefully ascross the night sky, vanishing playfully in the clouds only to reappear, a glimmering, laughing ruby, dancing high in the heavens. Solinari, cousin to Lunitari, shone with a diamond's brilliance, his silver rays flying across the sky, striving to outdance his cousin's in a contest of cold silver vrs. warm ruby. Nuitari, cousin to both Lunitari and Solinari, haughtily watched, generally unseen and unfelt by Krynn, the contest of wills between the other moons, believing himself to be higher than they.

Raistlin watched the two moons with a slight, disdainful smirk on his lips, but with serious, cold eyes. He could feel, albeit distantly, the strands of power emitting from the moons, and he hungered for more. Why, he thought absently, why should he become a warrior, hacking away bloodily at another for the sheer gain of emptyg glory from the barmaids? Or a fat inkeeper, doing other's bidding, always at another's beck and call. No, what Raistlin wanted was power, power over others. He wanted the innkeepers and warriors, with their strong, fat, big healthy bodies, to bow to him, to call _him _lord, _him_ master.

Drifting into semi-sleep, lost in his ambition and desires, words came, flitting softly across his mind, spoken by another voice-a whispering, shattered voice . . .

_The jealousy, the enmity devoid of blithe_

_The bitter taste of copper on my lips_

_The caustic mockery of shattered life_

_That I am forced to live. . . _

Raistlin sank into the shadows of dreams.

_xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Something was wrong.

Caramon sat up slightly in bed, not knowing why he did so. Something was wrong, very wrong.

The silence outside, the silence of night, was no longer contented, peaceful. Instead, it was taut, anxious, hushed and warning. Not a whimper excaped the lips of a baby, not a cry flew from the tongue of a frightened child. Nothing penetrated the thick, heavy, oppressive silence outside, nor the taut, frightened silence within.

Caramon saw a shadow move, and he stiffened with alarm and sudden fear, but relaxed when he saw it was only Raistlin. "Raist?" He whispered softly, not wanting to disturb Whatever was out their. " What are-" Raistlin made a swift, negative move with his hand, and Caramon fell silent.

Cararmon hopped out of his bed and scurried over to Raistlin, and the two watched the door, Raistlin wary, Caramon confused and frightened.

Raistlin had no idea how much time passed: a second, a minute, an hour had lost all meaning, melding together to form one and nothing. Caramon slipped his hand into Raistlin's, or maybe Raistlin slipped his hand into Caramon's. Either way, both twins stood in the doorway, Raistlin wisely in the darkness, Caramon foolishly in the red-tigned silver moonshine, hands entwined. All was hushed, all was apprehensive, a tight quiet like a peice of cloth stretched out of a loom instead of its usual looseness. Something was Wrong: that everyone understood.

In her window, Kitiara watched the roads silently, one hand holding the handle of a sword-a real one, a memento from her various journeys-in her hand, the other resting on the window ledge, keeping back the curtains. Her dark, cold eyes raced over Solace, silent and wary. The grip on the sword tightened.

In their room, Gilon, exhasted, was sleeping silently, his snores unheard. Next to him, Rosamun sat up in bed, wringing her bony hands and staring fixedly into the wraithlike shadows caused by the silver moonlight flitting through the sparse clouds into the room.

Raistlin was almost glad when the scream split the silence.

A shrill voice, a scream so inhuman that it seemed to come from the very deapths of the Abyss itself, raced on the taunt air, pierced the human mind and raced through limbs, paralyzing them with their own fear. Raistlin could not say wheather his ears or his soul heard the shriek first.

The heavy silence broken, candles flicked in windows and in the hands of townsfolk as they hurried out of their tree born homes, gathering at the edge of the swinging bridges to peer down across the ground below, searching for the shrieker.

They did not have to search long.

A shocked gasp, followed by a cry of dismay and fear, floated up throught the trees to touch the sky with its whisper of terror. Another gasp, another cry, signelled that the source of the shriek had been found.

Kitiara ran silently down the stairs, moving quickly across the room, tossed a cloak over her head, then grabbed a smaller one. Quickly pulling it on Raistlin, she tossed another to Caramon.

"Quickly!" She snapped, casting an uneasy look at Gilon and Rosamun's room. "If you don't want to get caught, come with me!" Raistlin noticed that the cloak covered the sword at her waist: he had seen it before, when he had boredly poked through his sister's belongings one quiet morning.

They moved out the door: Kit and Raistlin a soft whisper of cloth, a gentle thud of footsteps, Caramon much louder, thudding distinctly. Kitiara shook her head, shoving her brothers out the door. Raistlin could hear his parents stiring: Rosamun's frightened whimper, Gilon's worried voice. He thought nothing of them.

The three raced swiftly down the various bridges and ladders, stopping frequently for Raist to catch up, at which Kit would dissaprovingly shake her head and purse her lips. But they were still among the first to reach the crowd on the bottom, near a tree.

Pushing and shoving through the crowd, squirming through bodies of people, Raistlin reached the object of such shock and interest.

There was nothing there.

At least, that was what he thought. Looking closer, Raistlin saw that the bottom half of the trunk and the ground was completely bathed with dark blood, mirrored in Lunitari's light. Just a little above the start d of the blood, a chain was nailed to the wall, hanging so that Raistlin could see the piece of writing-written in blood-on the stained paper:

_Ãîðå âñåì, êòî ÿåò êðîâ åðíîòå "àõèçèñà, îåíü çëîãî òîáû þäàòü, òî çàæèâëåíèå Ìèøàêàëà ïðîíèêàåò åðåç îòíîñèòåëüíî ÿíîé öåïè Ñîëèíàðè, ñæàòîé ñ âîëøåáñòâîì "àõèçèñà è îáîäðåííûé ñ ïðîñüáàìè Ïàëàäèí. _

He had no idea what thy said, but noted the words down in hs brain, memorizing every symbol for later ussage. In fact . . . looking around, he noticed that everyone was either talking or looking at eachother glumly. Kit was sternly reprimanding Caramon for who knows what, so . . . if no one was watching . . .

Raistlin's breath came faster: his fingers tingled. Now, a voice said to him, take it before anyone sees!

His fingers shot out, grabbing the message, yanking it swiftly off the crude metal chain, and pocketed it quickly, not thinking about the blood on it. Turning, he saw that no one had seen him . . .

Brushing his fingers against the note, he felt another thing there too: the neckalce. Strange. How did that get there? He didn't remember it being there. And why, as his finger brushed against the stone, why this tiny, cold, icy sliver of fear? . . .

_You know the procedure by now: review, review please! Flames espeically welcome, I want my writing to be the best it can be. Oh no! I sound like my mother! Eeeeee! _

_Well, what do you think? Bad, good, middle: rating welcome. 1 is downright terrible, 10 is the best you've ever read. Be truthful, please. _

_Yes, I just realized, Raistlin acts sort of kenderish at the end but who cares?_

_Danke for you know what._


	5. The Mystery of the Runes

_Disclaimer: I. Own. Nothing. Got it??_

_Well . . . notice how, in the chapter, Kit refers to Caramon as 'Little Brother' and Raistlin as 'Baby Brother'. Draw your own conclusions, and tell them to me._

_Starts kinda angsty, gets better (I hope). So, now that I do hope my horrible writer's block is over (it better be), I, Mistress of the Kenlims (kender gremlins) am going to present another chapter to you! Bear with me, this chapter goes virually nowhere. Oh, and forget all the 'we've never been on adventures before' stuff in the real books, I just earesed all of it, the wicked being that I am._

_Oh, and the runes are not the same, try as I might they just WON'T come out the same, so ignore them, 'K?_

_Now, read or be irritated to death by annoying blue kenlims._

The Mystery of the Runes.

mîxD âZDX, Lbî lDb Lxîâ DxíîbD "BtPçPZB, îDíü çëînî bîáf zäBbü, bî çBFPâëDíPD WPrBLBëB VxîíPLBDb DxDç îbíîZPbDëüíî líîé öDVP YîëPíBxP, ZFBbîé Z âîërDáZbâîX "BtPçPZB P îáîäxDíífé Z VxîZüáBXP UBëBäPí.

It still made so little sense!

Raistlin, clutching his hand in agony, slumped forward over the table, exhausted. The scrap of now-dry paper with the precious note on it lay on the table, pinned down by the necklace. Raistlin, comparing the two, had seen the same words on the paper on the crescent-moon sapphire at the middle of the black mist inside the stone. But that was about all he knew.

Lifting his head, the six-year-old blinked back tears of disappointment and frustration as they warmed his eyes, threatening to overwhelm him. But the tears-damn them-refused to go away. Wiping his eyes, Raistlin stared glumly at the paper, placing his fingers on the edge.

And then started in terror.

The letters began to glow, a blue glow, just like the necklace's. In responce, the necklace began to glow, too . . . brighter . . . and brighter . . . until . . .

Raistlin could see nothing through the light, the cold, blue light, but . . .

Raistlin's head hit the table. His eyes-whites, irises, and pupils-were unseen through the blue glow that flowed through the paper through his fingers.

_A woman stood. He knew he and he didn't know her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and yet, at the almost-seen glimspe of her, his soul tremble in awe. Had he been standing, he would have fell to his knees before her . . . the Queen . . . _

_And then she, whoever she had been, was gone, and in her place was a dark, dark smoke, and a sapphire in the shape of a cresent moon, carved with runes. A fair, gentle woman wept in the corner, and Raistlin felt his fear leave by just laying eyes on her. And then . . ._

_A black creature, like a bird only thousands of times bigger, flew into the room, spinning in a circle around the smoke. Fear such as he had never known coursed through Raistlin's veins, freezing him. There was a brief flash of black light that was more blinding than any other light Raistlin had ever seen, a triumphant, dark laugh, and then silence . . . _

_Thunk_

Raistlin's head snapped up as he slid out of the chair and fell to the ground, thanks to Caramon's annoying habit of slamming doors.

"Caramon!"

Caramon flinched as Raistlin's voice slapped his back, muttering "Sorry". Going up to his twin, He offered his hand--which Raistlin ignored as he scrambled to his feet.

Undaunted, Caramon looked at the table that Raistlin had been sitting at. "What's this, Raist?"

"An undecipherable note and an unearthly necklace, brother." Raistlin said cooly, stopping Caramon's big and as he reached out to touch the precious necklace.

"Well, what I wanted to tell you was that Kit wants us both at the Inn_--now_." Caramon put the desired emphasize on the 'now'.

"I am coming." Raistlin grabbed the necklace, slipping it carefully into his pocket. Reaching out, he took the note off the table and folded it, slipping it beside the necklace in his pocket, trying to hide it so that Caramon did not see.

He failed.

Caramon, glancing over his shoulder, saw Raist slip the note carefully into his pocket, and was instantly interested. "Hey, Raist, what's that?"

"Nothing, Caramon." The words hissed between Raistlin's teeth, a warning his twin failed to notice.

"But it's a piece of paper, Raist. What are you doing with a piece of paper? Is that blood? Raist, why do you have a piece of paper with blood on it? You shouldn't have stuff like that, Raist. Father said so. Can I see?"

Raistlin froze, then stared up at the ceiling, his lips moving in a silent _why me?_, then sighed and looked back to Caramon.

"I am studying with the paper, brother." well, that was about the truth. "No, that is not blood, it's strawberry jelly." smooth lie, he thought to himself.  "And I really don't care what 'Father' says. No, you _can't_ see." His voice rose in shrill mockery at the 'father'.

"Why not?" Caramon asked curiously, eyeing his brother's pocket.

Raistlin walked up swiftly to Caramon, standing so close so quickly that Caramon found himself face-to-face with his twin before he could move. "You heard nothing, brother. You saw nothing. Do not mention _anything_ to Kit or Father, or-" Raistlin searched his imagination, coming up with the perfect threat. "Or giant man-eating scorpian-ghouls will come and devour your flesh and use your bones as toothpicks."

"Really?" Caramon's eyes widened; Raistlin marveled at the stupidity of his brother. "Raist, if there are horrible things like that, we shouldn't be here. C'mon, lets go see Kit. She seemed pretty impatient to me. Why is Kit like that, Raist."

Raistlin shook his head, frusterated and exasperated beyong endurence. "Fine, Caramon, we'll go see Kit. And remember: not a word!"

"Aw, why? Besides the scorpion-ghoul-thingy." Caramon cast a wary glance arounf the room, standing nearer to his brother-just in case Raistlin needed him, of course.

"Because, Caramon, you imbicilic fool!" Raistlin snapped, losing patience. Seeing Caramon's hurt look and the slight flinch at the sharp words, Raistlin lowered his voice, soothed his tone, and locked Caramon with his eyes. "Because it's a secret, Caramon. My secret. I'll show you later, _if_ you don't tell. OK?" If his threats could not work alone, maybe combining threats and bribes would work. "And remember the giant man-eating scorpian-ghouls."

"OK, Raist. Our secret. Don't worry, I won't tell!" Caramon said enthusiacally, pracically skipping out the door, Raistlin on his heels. "And you stay close to me, just in case."

Raistlin, ignoring his twin, walked at so rapid a pace that Caramon had to hurry to keep up, talking all about what he would do if a Monster-Thingy ever came near Raistlin, illustrating with his short wooden sword Gilon had carved for him. Steadfastly ignoring his twin's show of braggy bravado, and keeping a good eye on some of Caramon's wilder swings, Raistlin thought about the note and the jewel, running over his theories againa nd again in his mind. His hand stayed into his pocket, fingering the strange stone, the crook of his index brushing against the mysterious note.

_And then she, whoever she had been, was gone, and in her place was a dark, dark smoke, and a sapphire in the shape of a cresent moon, carved with runes._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kitiara waited impatiently at her table in the Inn, pacing back and forth, her heels hitting the floor with a paticularly angry _tap!_, her eyes fixed upon the Inn's doorway. Trust Caramon to take a full fourty minutes . . . if he'd forgotten, she'd strangle him and throw his miserable corpse to the bugbears . . . glancing now and then to a table in a paticularly shadowy corner, a dark line appeared between her brows: she'd give them to the count of ten.

one, _tap!_, two, _tap!_, three, _tap!_

Where _was_ Little Brother? _C'mon!_ Kit thought disgustedly to herself. A drunk, blind, and deaf gully-dwarf could have done a simple errand, just fetching Baby Brother! Now, was that so hard? Damn slow brothers, he'd probably stopped to play with his friends or something, instead of what she had specifically told him to do.

five, _tap!_, six, _tap!_, seven, _tap!_

What kind of soldier did not obey orders? Caramon was gonna get a whipping for this, if he didn't show up soon . . .

nine, _tap!_

Precisely three nanoseconds before she could count _ten, _Caramon, flanked by Raistlin, appeared in the doorway. Or it might have been more accurate to say that Raistlin was already inside the Inn, walking at a rapid pace, while being flanked by Caramon, who, as usual, was talking his aXX off. Kit pounced on both of them.

"What took you so long!!" She demanded, rudely cutting off her younger brother in mid-sentence. Caramon, who was used to this, responded cheerfully.

"I'm sorry I took so long, but I had to actually walk to Raist, then I had to tell Raist to come, then, you know, I had to walk _back_ here. Are we late?"

"All this took _forty-five minutes_?" Kit demanded, in a foul mood.

"We-ell, no . . . you see, I, uh, saw some kids throwing rocks at Weird Meggin's place and they asked me to join in so I played, only for a little while, 'cause then I remembered Raist, and then Jan, Ted Miller's son, ran up and wanted to show me his new puppy-its really cute, Kit, all browny-and then I was hungry, so I got an apple and by that time I had reached home and me and Raist talked, and-" Raistlin casted his brother a sharp, imperious look, and Caramon stuttered a little, remembering his promise. "-then we came back here. "

Kit took a deep breath, let it out in an exasperated sigh, and glared into Caramon's large brown eyes. "I gave you an order, Little Brother, and when someone gives you an order, you obey. And you didn't obey me when I gave you the order to get Baby Brother and bring him here, _pronto, _with _no,_ repeat, _no side trips_. _None._ And you took several little trips! What kind of soldier are you gonna be if you can't even complete a simple order, Little Brother? I swear, you are definately more than a kender than, well, a kender is!"

She was being harsh on him: she knew. After all, she berated herself, staring into those little-boy eyes as they filled with hurt tears, he's only six. This only served to irritate her even more. Tearing her eyes from Caramon's face, she looked at Raistlin, who was obseving his brother's scolding with a quiet, collected air: Caramon could have been a stranger. Raistlin shifted his feet slightly, returning his sister's stare until she could bear no more.

"Anyway." She snapped, breaking the silence. Caramon jumped slightly. "I want you to meet someone. Caramon, keep your mouth shut and answer only, I repeatonly when I ask you a question. Hear?"

"I hear." Caramon answered dutifully, cheerfully. Raistlin scowled slightly.

Motioning to her brothers to follow her, Kit headed for the shadowy corner, shaking her head slighly.

From the layer of darkness, the shadows watched back. 

_This and the next chapter were originally going to be one but this seems long enough (it probably isn't since the type's all HUGELY messed up, but what the hey) and the fact that the next part is idea only for now._

_Review, people, review. Sorry about the shortness._

_Danke. _ 


	6. The Strange Visitor to the Inn and the D...

_Sorry it's taken so long to update, I've been having some computer problems that never seem to end._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except my imagination. _

_Thanks to all who have reviewed this in the past, I really look forward to knowing what you think. And, as amazing as this may be,vocabulary lessons acually came in handy when writing this chapter. _

_Unlike previous ones, this chapter actually GOES somewhere, and so far I like how the story's going. _

_Mother, if you're reading this, quit it now. _

_For all those who are not my overly-obsessive parent, please read._

Chapter Six

The Visitor and the Following.

Kit led the way: her sweat-damp midnight curls pressing tightly to her face, her eyes still smoldering with impatience and anger, her lips pressed together in a firm expression of resolve. Raistlin, keen brown eyes intently searching the corner, face carefully cold, was on her heels, steadfastly ignoring his brother's whispering. Caramon skipped beside Raistlin, cheerfully whispering inanities in his twin's ear, tears forgotten.

They reached the corner: Kit flashed the man - for now Raistlin could see it was a man, wrapped all in black cloak - one of her most charming smiles.

"Good morning, Vielleicht." her tone was carefully charming and respectful. Placing both hands on the table, she leaned forward slightly, her brown eyes fixing on the man in front of her.

Raistlin also studied the man intently. Now that he had sat up, Raistlin could see that he wore a black shirt, a gleaming red vest, and a heavy black woolen cloak, even though it was fairly warm in the summer afternoon. The hood was drawn up over his head, shadowing all but his eyes.

His eyes. They were the feature that caught Raistlin's attention and held it. Rubious in color, they had the hard look of a ruby and an unnatural gleam to them that set Raistlin's gaurd on instant alert. Caramon, standing close besides his twin saw the eyes too.

"Raist!" he whispered in awe. "That man has red eyes!"

Raistlin opened his mouth, but wheather the unuttered words were scolding or not was never found out. Before Raistlin could reply, Kitiara stepped casually upon his and Caramon's feet with an iron-shod boot; Caramon yelped slightly and Raistlin, glancing at the ruby-eyed, was sure he saw the thin lips twist in an amused smile, a smile that sent a shiver up Raistlin's spine.

"Fair morn, uth Matar." the mananswered Kitin a soft, coldvoice.

"My brothers, the twins I told you about." Kit swept a hand in her sibling's direction. "The big one is Caramon; a soft nature and not the brightest of the various peoples I have met, but relatively handy with a sword for one so young and quick to obey, but easy to distract and none to apt to keep a secret well. Raistlin, the smaller one, is a secretive kid and a good bit of smarts and wits on his shoulders, though with atongue that'll get him in trouble someday. Can't wield a sword--can't lift one, come to think of it--but I've sent him to mage-school for the past six or so months, before summer hit, and he's done reasonably well."

Kit's tone was sharp, quick, and to the point; the man studied the two boys intently as she described them. "How old did you say? Four, five?"

"Six." Raistlin said curtly, disliking the fact that Kit was giving so much information about him away to a stanger.

"You keep your mouth shut." Kit snapped to Raist, then turned back to the man. He had drawn his hood back, and Raistlin could see his face now: lean and bony, with thin lips and narrowed red eyes, pale skin, and a sharp nose. Gray hair framed the picture.

"They'll do." Vielleicht nodded towards Caramon, though his eyes remained upon Raistlin.

"I'll meet you in the morning, then?" Kit said in a cool, professional tone.

"The morning." the man's words sounded like the slamming door of a tomb.

They shook hands--the man's bony, white hand stark against Kit's tanned one--and Kit, without a backwards glance, left the Inn, moving at a quick pace with a sharpness to her steps. Caramon and Raistlin hurried after her; Caramon because he wanted to know about the strange red-eyed man, Raistlin because he did not want to be left alone with the strange man with the blood-colored irises.

"Who was that, Kit?" Caramon asked inquisitively, skipping to keep up with his older sister's quick pace.

"A man, Little Brother." Kit's tone warned Caramon to say no more. However, Caramon failed to notice.

"He had funny eyes, Kit. All red, like that ruby that a kender showed me once. Why were his eyes like that? Raist, do you know?" Caramon glanced back at his twin, who was lagging behind."Anyway, he looked like a ghoul, Kit. He made me shiver and feel cold inside. You shouldn't hang around with people like that, Kit, Father said so."

"Father won't_ know_ if you keep your mouth closed!" Kit stopped, turned around, and glared down at her younger brother. "Which you will, Caramon. You will not tell anyone–I mean _anyone_–about this. Swear to me."

"Aw, why?" Caramon asked childishly.

Kit raised a hand, her eyes sharp and angry at Caramon's insolence.

"OK, OK. I promise." Caramon stated obediently, skipping back a pace to walk with Raistlin. When Kit, satified that Caramon would not spill his guts, was out of earshot, having moved away towards the outskirts of town, Caramon turned around and asked his twin "Why didn't Kit want me to tell?"

"Because it's her business, brother." Raistlin replied simply. "And she sees it fit not to have Father learn of it."

"She didn't make you promise, though." the twins reached an intersection in the rope-bridges and took the left bridge.

"She either believed that I wouldn't tell, or simply forgot to make me promise. Either way, it works out well for me." Raistlin mused, almost to himself.

"Oh." Caramon, seeing their approaching home, skipped ahead, leaving Raistlin to stared at the bright azure sky, mulling over his own endless questions.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was some time later: Raistlin was seated on the shadowy ground beneath a vallenwood, the stone, the note, and one of his own books-a journal. Studying the necklace and noting every detail in the journal, Raistlin was fascinated. What mysteries did the note and the paper contain? So far, they seemed endless.

Flipping the page, he began to write questions, questions he wanted answered.

_What is this strange necklace? Where did it come from? Is it magical? What do the runes mean? Is it in any way connected to the note? Is the necklace an instrument of good or evil?_

All of those questions, and more, were still unanswered.

Frowning, Raistlin turned to a blank page and began to copy the runes from the paper into his journal.

_mîxD âZDX, Lbî lDb Lxîâ DxíîbD "BtPçPZB, îDíü çëînî bîáf zäBbü, bî çBFPâëDíPD WPrBLBëB __VxîíPLBDb DxDç îbíîZPbDëüíî líîé öDVP __YîëPíBxP, ZFBbîé Z âîërDáZbâîX "BtPçPZB P îáîäxDíífé Z VxîZüáBXP UBëBäPí._

Almost every rune was identical or similar to a letter in the Common language, save for the marks above or belowalmost all the smallerrunes-espeically the ones that were similar to vowels. Raistlin turned to the necklace, peering through the dark mist that shrouded the sapphire with the silver runes. He began to copy them down:

_YîëPíBxP, ZFBbîé Z âîërDáZbâîX "BtPçPZB P îáîäxDíífé Z VxîZüáBXP UBëBäPí._

The runes on the necklace matched the last line of runes on the note.

"Huh." Raistlin ran the tip of the quill across his lips. "Now this is getting interesting."

So absorbed inhis work was Raistlin that he failed to notice the approaching boy.

"Hey, Raist!" Caramon's cheerful voice startled Raistlin, breaking into his thoughts and annoying him to no end.

"What do you want?" demanded Raistlin, not looking up from his work. Caramon, however, did not notice.

"I'm going to go play with some of the other boys, Raist, call me if you need me."

Raistlin lowered his head, turning from his brother. Caramon, not noticing this, skipped away.

Raistlin lifted his eyes and found his brother, getting ready to pitch crab apples at the other team, easily. Good, he's busy, so he won't bother me, Raistlin thought with satisfaction.

Turning back to his work, Raistlin spent the rest of the afternoon in study.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_A woman stood. He knew he and he didn't know her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and yet, at the almost-seen glimspe of her, his soul tremble in awe. Had he been standing, he would have fell to his knees before her . . . the Queen . . . _

_And then she, whoever she had been, was gone, and in her place was a dark, dark smoke, and a sapphire in the shape of a cresent moon, carved with runes. A fair, gentle woman wept in the corner, and Raistlin felt his fear leave by just laying eyes on her. And then . . ._

_A black creature, like a bird only thousands of times bigger, flew into the room, spinning in a circle around the smoke. Fear such as he had never known coursed through Raistlin's veins, freezing him. There was a brief flash of black light that was more blinding than any other light Raistlin had ever seen, a triumphant, dark laugh, and then silence . . . _

AHOOOOOOOOOWWLL!

A howl broke the stillness of the night, shattering Raistlin's dreams. Opening his eyes, he blinked away the mists of the nightmare, for he was sure it was a nightmare: he'd had it before, but he could never truly remember it when he tried to. Shaking his head, Raistlin recognized the howl of a wolf.

What were wolves doing so near Solace?

Raistlin got up onto his bed-after checking to see if the unearthly howl had awakened his twin. It had not. Not surprising, considering that Caramon had been known to sleep through a thunder storm. Nodding to himself, he-with the help of the sturdy window ledge-stood up on the small bed and, parting the curtains, the little boy stared searchingly out the small window.

It was night: well, almost night. The smooth, iridescent light of moonless midnight had faded to darkest indigo, the horizon lit with the tiniest spark of golden dawn. Shadows were long and lengthy, far outdoing their masters. Raistlin's large brown eyes skimmed the ground below the airborn town, looking for the howl's birth. He saw nothing.

How strange.

And yet, how not.

His thoughts were inturrupted by a noise behind him.

Startled, the six-year-old turned around, expecting to see a monster born of his darkest dreams waiting to devourer him. Instead, he saw a shadow: a shadow in the form of a teenage girl.

Kit.

She moved quickly, silencing Raistlin with a hand to his lips. "Ssst." she hissed, grinning her crooked grin, a smile that was meant to be reassuring. Raistlin let himself relax, though he was curious of why she'd come.

"Kit-"

"Hush."

Kitiara whisked he little brother of the bed, thrusting a cloak into his arms. "Quick, put that on. Now." her tone held no argument. Turning abruptly from him, she moved to the dresser where his and Caramon's clothes were. Silantly yanking the dawers open, she began to place leggins, shirts, tunics, vests, and other clothing into a sack. Raistlin dumbly watched her, than pulled the cloak on quietly. It was dark and long, much too long for his little frame. He tugged it around him and, carefully, moved over to the bedside table and slipped the pocket that held the journal, necklace, and note around his self, under the light cloak.

Kitiara, her work finished,shook Caramon awake. Raistlin, watching from the shadows, saw that his sister's hand was to his twin's lips before Caramon had opened his eyes. "Ssst, hush up. Put this on and wait with Raist."

"Kit," Caramon began in a confused tone, staring at his elder sister in surprise and confusion.

"That was an order, soldier." Kit answered in clipped tones, thrusting a cloak similar to Raistlin's into Caramon's hands. "Obey."

Caramon obediently hopped out of bed--first glancing remorsefully at the warm covers, for the morning was chilly--and tugged on the cloak. Kitiara, without missing a beat, handed both her brothers a pair of shoes.

"Aw, but Kit, it's summer!" Caramon piped up.

"Hush up!" Kit hissed, her eyes flashing. Glancing warily at the curtains separating Gilon and Rosamun's bedroom from the rest of the house, she held a finger to her lips. "Put them on, and no arguments!" she snapped in a sibilant whisper.

Caramon, chagrined, tugged on the shoes, and came to join Raistlin by his bed in the corner. Raistlin noticed, as he pulled on the pair of shoes he'd been given, that they wereboots made of soft, dark leather, not the hard, cracked boots he and Caramon usually wore in the winter.

"Raist, are we going somewhere?" Caramon asked, fiddling with his cloak.

Raistlin was silent, remembering the words 'in the morning'. But before he could answer, Kit inturrupted. "Yes. We are. Come on." Pointing to the door, she laid a not on the table, pinning it down with a rock. Raistlin, who was near, saw that it read:

_Dear Gilon,_

_I have taken my brothers and myself on certain business that I need not detail here. I will bring them back someday in the near future. Do not worry. I have done this for the good of my siblings, and, I assure you, they will be quite safe and cared for. _

She had not signed it.

Raistlin thought briefly of his parent's reations to this note, to finding all three of the children's beds empty, and felt a twang. Of what, he was not certain.

"Where are we going?" he asked as Kit hustled Caramon and him out the door, taking care to bolt it after they left, stepping into the shadowed realm of pre-dawn.

"I'll tell you later." she answered curtly.

Kit moved them down the bridges, down the ladders until they stepped upon the dark, damp ground. Caramon was still sleepy from the sudden awakening. Raistlin was not.

Swiftly they traveled towards the stables, where they waited in the dark cover of the tall trees. Kit tapped her foot: no one came, nothing happened.

Then a shadow, barely seen, flitted through the trees, and a cloaked figure appeared, leadingthree horses. The first two were lean and fast: the thirdwas smaller, quicker, used to bearing little weight. The cloaked man nodded to Kit, and Raistlin saw a flash of ruby eyes. It was the man from the Inn, Raistlin realized, the red-eyed man--Vielleicht.

"Fair morn to you, uth Matar." Vielleicht said in a cold tone.

"Good morning to you too, Vielleicht." Kitiara answered in a carefully pleasent tone, but Raistlin's sharp ears detected a cold steel beneath the sweet honey of the words.

Without a word, she and the man took hold of Raistlin and Caramon and hoisted them onto the smaller horse, moving quickly so that they had no time to resist. The remaining two then climbed onto their own horses.

"Say good-bye to this boring town, baby brothers." Kit said in a cool, simple voice. "Isn't likely you'll see it for a month of two."

"Bye." Caramon said sleepily. Raistlin was silent.

Kit, taking the reigns of her brother's horse, pulled sharply. Without another word, the four rode away form Solace.

And, Raistlin thought with a shiver, he was certain another howl split the silence just before he slipped into darkness.

_Soooo . . . _

_What do you think about this one? Good, bad, awful, wonderful?_

_Please review._


	7. White Light, Unholy

_Sorry, sorry, sorry it's taken sooooo much time to update._

_Wow . . . well, the previous six chapters have introduced you to the main characters, the necklace, the runes on the note, and . . . that's it. _

_Oh, yeah, I got the

* * *

thingy to work, so no more XXXXXXXXXXX or -----------, which is a relief, I can tell you. _

Caution: this chapter is weird. If you hate weirdness, do not read. So, everyone read.

thingy to work, so no more XXXXXXXXXXX or -----------, which is a relief, I can tell you. thingy to work, so no more XXXXXXXXXXX or -----------, which is a relief, I can tell you. thingy to work, so no more XXXXXXXXXXX or -----------, which is a relief, I can tell you. 

_AAAAAAAAAARGH! The words keep stickingtogether!!!! Sigh. Please ignore words that are stucktogether, you can figure out that there's supposed tobe a space between them._

_OK, here we actually GO somewhere, and the so-far fairly-normal story gets a bit . . . weird . . . _

White Light, Unholy.

Raistlin woke up, groggily raising his head from his cloak. He was stiff all over. Sleeping on the floor was every bit as uncomfortable as he imagined. Rubbing his eyes, the six-year-old stared curiously around him.

They were in a small clearing, around a campfire. Kit was stirring a pot, her damp, dark curls plastered to her hair with sweat and the early-morning mists. But that was not what made Raistlin's eyes fix on her. She had on chain mail and leather armor, and, at her hip, was a sword-a _real_ one, not the wooden one she practiced with.

Kit raised her head, noticing as she did so that she had an audience. Grinning at Raistlin, she shook her head. "Best wake up, Baby Brother, food's ready. C'mon, lets have some, and then Little Brother can have what's left. That way, we actually get some breakfast." She winked at her brother, who slid out of his cloak and came up to join her.

"Where are we, Kit?" he asked, studying her sword, chain mail, and leather armor with a cooly curious eye.

"That's for me to know, and for you to try to figure out." Kit answered, handing him a bowl with some rabbit soup on it. Raistlin sat down and began to eat with more appetite than he usually had: he'd ridden all night, it seemed, with Caramon sleepily clinging to the small child, nearly pulling Raistlin off the saddle. He had no idea how to ride a horse, and had clung to the reins to tightly that his hands still bore the marks.

Kit, eyeing his hands, said in an off-hand manner, "I'll teach you to ride, Raist. For now, eat your food."

Raistlin, frowning slightly, looked around. The red-eyed man-Vielleicht?-was gone.

"Where-"

"Hush."

Brother and sister sat side-by-side, enjoying the warm, early-morning sun and the peaceful moment. Kit kicked Caramon awake, and he finished off the rest of the pot, complaining that they had left him a very little amount. No one said anything about the sudden flight from Solace, and no one wondered aloud what was happening when Gilon found the brief note Kit had left her step-father.

Raistlin wondered, and, later, after Kit settled her younger brothers onto the saddle and taught them how to hold the reins correctly, after the bony horse bearing Raistlin and Caramon fell a ways behind Kit's mare, Caramon turned to Raist and asked, "Why did we leave, Raist? What will Father think? And Mother? Maybe we shouldn't be out here, Raist. They'll worry, and Mother will cry-you know she will, Raist. What are we doing? Why did Kit take us? I'm not complaining or anything-" Caramon looked to Kit and back to his brother. "-this is what we've always wanted, isn't it? But I'd like to know, if you know what I mean, Raist."

Raistlin did not say anything, but looked around at the path that they were taking, memorizing it for later use.

* * *

They arrived at the Inn that afternoon. 

It was a well-kept building, though showing signs of wear. The roof was more-or-less intact, and Raistlin could see mis-matched pieces of wood fitted here or there to cover up holes. The walls were worn and windowless, except were there were two boards near the far side of the Inn that were not on speaking terms with each other. A sign, obviously new and looking strangely out of place hanging from a weak, weathered beam, was carved in the shape of a parrot, and paintedgreen with orange and purple polka dots. An inscription above the door read 'The Polka-Dotted Parrot', or, to be more correct, 'Thee Ploka-Dooted Paret'.

The trio stood in the front of the Inn, staring at it, Kit with a dry smile. Leaping elegently from her horse, she yanked down her brothers (or, rather, she yanked down Raistlin, Caramon having fallen off two nanoseconds earlier) and, handing each of them a dagger, led the horses to a corner of the Inn and instructed her brothers to stay with them and to defend themselves, if nessesary, until she came back-and to _not move from the spot._

"You got that?" she asked in a businesslike tone.

"Yep!" Caramon answered cheerfully. Raistlin nodded, fingering the dagger, keeping him fingers away from the razor-sharp blade.

"Wow, Raist! A real dagger!" Caramon exclaimed once Kit was (hopefully) out of earshot, while rubbing a bruised knee. "This is wonderful! Wait till I tell Father!"

"Yes." Raistlin said absent-mindedly, not really paying attention to his twin. Drawing out the necklace, he began to inspect it for the thousanth time, turning it over and over in the light. Taking out his journal and the note, he began to study the two for the gazillionith time, as Caramon put it.

"What's so speical about a necklace, Raist?" he asked, bending curiously over his smaller twin's shoulders to get a better look. "It's pretty, I guess, but it's just a rock. What's the big deal?"

Raistlin frowned at his twin's ignorance, but answered, "It's important to me."

"Okay, Raist, if you say so." Caramon skipped away to play with the dagger and peering through the crack in the boards.

Kit came out then, looking smug. She took the horses' reins and tied tem to a pole in the stable, all the while whistling 'It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood' to herself. Caramon skipped over to ask her what she was so happy about. Raistlin ignoring both his siblings, continued to study the runes. Turning over the necklace, he started in shock.

The runes, glowing through the black mist, were radiating bone-white light that filled the necklace and caused Raistlin's eyes to widen. The unholy light filled his eyes, so that it was all he could see. It struck his mind, paralyzing him with pain. His mouth opened to scream a warning, a warning that his brain was shrieking, but no sounds came out . . .

The world tilted . . . he was falling . . . falling through white light . . . into black mist . . . sapphire glow . . . unholy . . . falling . . . closing his eyes . . . seeing . . . knowing . . . sleeping . . .dreaming . . . all the while, falling . . . into oblivion . . . forever . . . dreaming . . . dreaming . . . falling . . . !

Raistlin collapsed silently, his hand clenched around the necklace, which had stopped glowing, his head bent forward at a sharp angle, eyes-irises, whites, and pupils-glowing with the unholy light that shone beneath the closed lids. He began to whisper strange words, whisper feverishly, until he had no more breath. That was all the sound he made.

* * *

_Sorry for shortness, hope the excitement made up. _

_What did you think??????????? Please tell me! _

_The next one won't be so damn short, I promise!_

_Review!_


	8. Dark Dreams

_Hurray. I have this chapter up. Danke to all those who reviewed, I'm really greatful. Wrote this one in the LATE afternoon, ch. seven in the morning . . . don't ask why, I'm thinking of putting them in the same chapter, but I don't really wanna._

_No real notes on this one, it's terribly short but longer than the previous (I hope) and I hope you like._

_Read._

Dark Dreams.

_He knew this dream . . . _

_He was alone, all alone. There was no one beside him, no one behind him, no one ahead of him._ _All he could see was colorless, and yet a million colors at once. He looked down and saw that he was standing on nothing . . . _

_He was falling, falling through emptiness, nothingness, into a colorless void. Down, down, down, down._ _He was shrieking, but no one heard, no one would ever hear. At the sorner of his eye, he could see Caramon, Kitiara, Rosamun, Gilon, everyone he had ever met, everyone he had ever known, and he screamed out to them, reached out to them. But they could not hear him over the wailing of the wind, the wailing of the wind that was rushing, rushing over his feet and legs and hands and arms and face, up his chin, into his mouth, ripping the screams away from his tongue and flinging them away._

_Up his nose, stifling his breath so that he gasped, gasped and choked painfully for air._

_Into his eyes, flailing back his lids and hair and running through every single strand, standing it on end. And yet the wind rushed higher._

_And it was not wind at all but water, cool water, calm water, terrifying, wonderful, dark, awful . . . awesome . . . horrible . . . _

_And then it was not water or wind but somewhere between mist and smoke, blacker than night. And, gleaming at the center of the awful mist-smoke, was a shining sapphire __light_

_And still he screamed as, echoing in his ears, resounding in his very soul, a woman laughed darkly, triumphantly._

_But the vision did not shatter or fade! _

_No! _

_This was wrong!_

_Wrong . . . wrong . . . wrong . .. what is true wrong, little Thing? Mageling? A voice pierced his mind, making him writhe.A darkness born ofvoice, or a voice born of darkness.__What is true wrong? Maybe you are wrong, and this is right! Think of that, recognize that, see that, little mageling? Poor, puny mortal! _

_No . . . no . . . no . . . !_

_The black mist came around the sapphire light, encircling it, inprisioning it, etching upon it bone-white runes . . . hardening . . . water encircled the mist or fog or deep black smoke, whatever the unholy substance was . . . clear water . . . hardening into crystal . . . a scream, no, five screams, torn from five throats, eachoed in rage, rage, unholy, dangerous rage . .. thwarted rage . . . _

_Wrong . . . wrong . . . wrong . . . _

_He was falling into that crystal, that mist, that unholy, dark mist, falling past the grim runes into the clear sapphire . . . _

_Wrong . . . _

_Your salvation, Mageling . . . your death . . . _

_My salvation . . . my death . . . cruel . . . twisted . . . warped . . . no . . . _

Raist, wake up! Raist!

_He screamed as searing pain bit into his flesh, raced up is arm. Every nerve was aflame, every bone was ice, every sensation was pain . . . no . . . _

_Poor, puny mortal! The voice laughed, horrible, cold, mocking laughter that could have been no darker, and yet, was sweet, soft, sultry . . . Thus do the gods remind you of your mortality!_

"Raist?!"

Raistlin's eyes flared open. He had no idea where he was or what was going on. A gentle voice called to him, called through him, two hands held his shoulders down, firmly, as he fought against them. Then the face moved closer, and Raistlin could see that it belonged to his twin. Crying out in thankfulness, Raistlin clutched at Caramon with fingers that bled.

"Caramon!" the cry was that of a terrified child.

"Shhh, Raist, you'll wake everyone up! Hey, don't cry . . . " Caramon began to twist his fingers into a form of a bunny, showing it to his frightened brother. Raistlin realizing that the water o his face was not that of his terrible dreams but that of his own tears, calmed down a little. Sighing, he relaxed his grip on his twin and fell back against the pillows, breathing hard.

"You OK, Raist?" Caramon watched him anxiously.

Raistlin would have shook his head at the idioticy of his twin, but that would require strength, and, presently, he had none. Sighing, he simply said, "Now I am. Thank you." the words stuck him his throat, but he forced them out.

Caramon, satified, nodded. "OK, if you say so, Raist.I'll go get you some soup. They have really good soup here, Raist, though the place's a bit weird . . . "

Raistlin listened to his brother leaving the room, chattering all the way. Sighing again, he closed his eyes, and tried to make some sense out of what had just happened.

However, that was hard to do, because he could still hear the evil laugh . . .

_Ok . . . well, it's longer than the last one, at least!_

_Wow . . . eight chapters and this is only about one third of the story . . . this is going to be looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong._

_Please review!_


	9. The Inn of the PolkaDotted Parrot, name ...

_Disclaimer: don't own DragonLance . . . don't own TSR . . . don't own anything 'cept imagination . . . blah blah blah ya know this already why am I bothering to even say it??_

_Ugh! My cat ALWAYS does that to me . . . and the worst part is that she's fat as hell . .. _

_OK, back again! _

_OVER TEN REVIEWS! shrieks with joys and caters around room, making the cats yowl . AWESOME! Wo-hoo! Yeah!_

_ahem thank you all for the reviews, I really enjoy reading them. _

_A note: _Peche _is pronounced 'peach'. geddit?_

_Now read. _

**The Inn of the Polka-Dotted Parrot.**

Raistlin sighed, then rolled out of bed, landing unceremoniously on the ground with a light _thump_. It was a day since his 'dream' as Kitiara had put it. Both his siblings had wanted to know what the heck had happened, and Raistlin had simply said that he'd been very tired and had fallen asleep. Kit and Caramon accepted that with ease, and Raistlin had been put back to bed almost immediately. Now he had awakened.

Getting to his feet, the six-year-old child cast a look at his sleeping twin, then out the window. It was day. Caramon was tossed on the bed, sleeping on his back, limbs askew, blanket tussed. A mischievous grin touch Raistin's lips as he crossed the room to get a better look at his sleeping twin. Then Raistlin climbed onto the bed and parked himself cross-legged on his brother. With his delicate fingers Raistlin reached out and rapped his twin on the head.

"Rise and shine." he said simply, rocking on his knees on Caramon's stomach.

Caramon started at the sudden weight on his chest, then tried to swipe his smaller twin away with a browned hand. His eyes opened, then widened. "Raist!" he cried out accusingly. "I was _sleeping_!"

"Good morning to you too, my brother." Raistlin replied, and, seeing that his twin was awake, jumped off his brother and slid to the floor.

Caramon rolled out of bed, rubbing his head where Raistlin had rapped against his skull. "Why does morning have to be, I dunno, so damn _early_?" Caramon whined, grabbing and tugging the sheets and blankets into something that faintly resembled a well-made bed.

Raistlin shrugged, In truth, he was not really listening to his twin, and was far more busy studying the room.

It was a small room: consisting of a rickety, old, stained wooden table and two small, hard beds-his and Caramon's. A single, small window let a little light in, peaking shyly through the dirty, limp curtains. There was a burn on the floor, and several stains that smelled suspiciously like dwarf spirits. A chamber pot in the far corner, within easy reach of the beds, did nothing to contribute to the smell of the room. Raistlin wrinkled his nose in disgust. Stepping deliberately over the stains, the little boy peered curiously out the door, where smells of breakfast drifted up the stairs-rather old, worn stairs, now that he had time to observe them. Giving his head a shake, Raistlin cast a look at his clothes. He had fallen 'asleep' in them, and they were rumpled and dry and smelly. Going over to his bundle of spare clothes, which had been thrown at the base of his bed, Raistlin dragged out a yellowed shirt, worn pants, patched leather vest, and threadbare socks. Yanking off his clothes, he simply tossed them onto the floor, then tugged on the new ones. Turning, he saw Caramon waiting impatiently for him at the door.

"Raist . . . c'mon, they have _food._ I'm _starving._ Hurry _up_!"

"Coming, Caramon." Raistlin joined his twin, and the two went down the stairs.

The downstairs was no more pleasant than the upstairs.

The only light was from the many cracks in the walls and ceiling, giving the large room a mix-match appearance of shadowy black and bright white checkers. Tables, old, stained with countless spills and meals, stood around, empty. Chairs and stools-those still standing, a few were strewn around the floor, as if kicked over during a fight and then promptly forgotten-were as aged and stained as the tables. The bar was too stained, and a surly-looking man glared at the two brothers from beneath a grey bandana wrapped around his forehead, leaving his oily, thin grey hair for display. The only other occupants at the ill-looking Inn were a mean-looking group of rogues and rangers, a dark-robed figure huddled in the corner, and Kitiara.

Kitiara, lifting her head, caught Raistlin's stare. She was dressed as she had been the other day, and was talking pleasantly to a rogue, slapping away his sly fingers as they fondled her money pouch. Grinning crookedly, the young woman rose from her chair (first flicking a sharp knife warningly at the would-be thief) and swaggered over to her brothers.

"Look who decided to wake up!" She exclaimed, winking at her brothers. "Come over here, I want you to meet someone. Yes, Caramon, I'll buy you breakfast, you too, Raist. Just get over here."

Raistlin and Caramon followed Kitiara to the table, where the man who she had been talking to leered unpleasantly at the children. "Midgets, uth Mator. _Midgets_."

"That's uth Mat_ar_, stupid, and they're not midgets." Kit slapped the man on the cheek, wiped her hand on her pants afterwards.

The man rubbed his cheek, which spotted a very red mark in the shape of three of Kit's fingers, but said nothing.

"This is-why don't _you _tell them your name?" Kitiara started to introduce the incredibly dirty man but ended with a disdainful wrinkle of the nose and a meaningful stare.

The man muttered something.

"Sorry, didn't catch that." Kit said good-naturally, clapping the man on the shoulder. Raistlin could see her fingers grip the man's scrawny bone in a grip of iron.

The man muttered a little louder.

"What was that?" Kit held a cupped hand to her ear, leaning a little closer to the man, winking at Caramon, who was having a hard time not laughing.

"Oh, for-" the man let out a variety of swears that made Caramon's eyes bug out and his mouth drop. Slamming a sordid hand onto the table, he snapped out the word, "Peche."

"Peach? Is that your _name_??" Caramon asked, laughing.

"Damn right, it's my name, had a _--------_ fool of a mother. And don't you dare laugh!" Peche glared at Caramon, striking at Kit's hand. She deftly avoided it, smirking.

"Are you hungry? she asked abruptly to her brothers.

"Yeah!" Caramon grinned and nodded his head. "You bet I am! I haven't eaten since-"

"That will do, Caramon." Raistlin reprimanded his brother with a look. He was in no mood to listen to his twin's chatter. Raistlin wanted to know more about what had happened in the past three or so days.

"Kit, where are we? What are we doing here? Why did you leave? Why did you bring us with you? Why are we here?" Raistlin met his sister's eyes with an unblinking stare.

She reached out and lightly smacked him on the cheek. "Those are my answers, and it'll help if you keep your questions to yourself and I'll keep my answers to myself. Ok, Baby Brother?" Twisting in her chair, Kit leaned over the table and shouted, "Hey! Innkeep! Some breakfast for these kids, some breakfast for me, and a mug of ale for Peachy here!"

"Hey!" The man called Peche glared at

"Make that _two_ mugs of ale!" Kit grinned at Caramon, winked. "If you're good and quiet I'll let you have a sip of mine."

A surly barmaid, dressed in a filthy green skit, dirty, lacy low-cut blouse, bearing an array of plates and mugs came over to the table, set them down with a slam. Casting a reproving look at Peche, she stalked away.

"Good morning to you too." Kitiara called after her, wiping a fork and knife one a handkerchief and digging in to the assortment of ham, eggs, cheese, bacon, and maize cakes with the relish of a woman who does not know when the next meal will come. Next to her, Caramon too plunged into his food with gusto, oblivious to Raistlin's look of disgust.

Eyeing his plate, Raistlin grimaced. The ham looked greasy, the eggs looked greasy, the cheese looked greasy, even the maize cakes looked greasy. He picked up a fork-wiping it on his pants first, for it to was greasy-and began to eat, little by little, carefully avoiding making eye contact with the food.

"Eat it all, Raist, yo don't know when you'll eat again." Kit reprimanded lightly when Raistlin put his fork down after only about a fourth.

Raistlin, who wasn't hungry anymore, stirred his food around with the end of the fork and slipped it to Caramon when Kit wasn't watching. Caramon whispered 'thanks!' and began to finish Raistlin's plate with the same gusto. This was nothing new. The twins did this at home a lot.

Bored slightly, Raistlin skimmed the Inn with his large eyes, searching for _something_ of interest.

He didn't have to look long.

Two dark-robed figures slipped into the Inn, and, without even looking at the Innkeep, who watched them in surly wariness, glided over to the table that housed Kit, Peche, Caramon, and a watching Raistlin. Without making a sound, the two dark figures separated and stood, one being Peche, the other behind Kit. With the slightest rustle of cloth-cloth that Raistlin could see was trimmed with silver runes-Each lifted delicate, finely-sculpted fingers and set them on the back of Peche's and Kit's necks.

"Hey!"

Both Kit and Peche turned around to confront the figures.

"Oh. You." Kit gave the figure behind her a cold smile. Gesturing to Peche, who had drawn a wicked-looking knife, she said simply, "I know them." Turning to her brothers, she gestured at the figures. "Kids, this isKieran Shadowsong and his twin, Leila Shadowsong."

As introduced, each figure pulled back its hood, and Raistlin had a good look at the intruders.

They were elves.

Dark elves, to be specific. Each had delicate, finely-molded features. Each had rose lips and violet eyes, each had ivory skin and each had silky midnight hair. The man's fell to his shoulders, but the woman's fell to her wrists, emphasizing the toll the road's dust had taken on her black robes. Raistlin, observing them, noticed that they didn't look a day under twenty, yet he knew that they must have been much older.

"May we join you?" The man spoke in a soft, warm voice, but sat down gracefully without waiting for an answer. The elfwoman did the same, smoothing out her robes as she sat. Kitiara nodded without looking at them, having returned to her food.

"Some drink? Ale, beer, dwarf spirits, wine? What do you elves like?" Peche asked, tapping his knife on the table.

The one called Leila smiled, a cold smile that brought no more warmth to her face than sunshine upon ice. "Wine, please. Two cups."

"Hey, innkeep! Some elfwater for the elfs here!"

"El_v_es." muttered Kit, pushing her plate away and surveying the newcomers with large, liquid brown eyes that didn't blink."

Raistlin eyed the two. Something nagged at his brain, but he had no idea what it was. Studying the elves's robes, he realized something.

The runes were the same as the ones on the necklace and the note.

* * *

_Sooo . . . what did you think?_

_Please review, I'll be eternally grateful._


	10. Nighttime Assignment

_Disclaimer: I claim nothing Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman, TSR or Wizards of the Coast or anyone else I failed to mention claims._

_Yeah, I know, Kit, Caramon, and Raistlin aren't in this one, but it's vitaly important to the story, so read._

_The lyrics are by Hilary Duff, from her song 'Fly'. I first heard them on my little cousin's album, and I thought they would be appropriate. _

* * *

_Can you hear it coming?_

_Can you feel it in your soul?_

_Can you trust this longing–_

_And take control!_

The night was beautiful.

The agelong darkness, lit by silvery and crimsonflames as thered and silver moons rose above the world and twinkling lights of ancient stars graced the dark heavens. Nighttime was full and deep, comforting and soothing. Wind whistled through the darkened leaves of nighttime trees, tossing the leaves playfully back and forth, sending them rustling and whispering among themselves. Branches creaked, waving back and forth, and, here and there, there came an indignant cheep of an awakened bird, an echoing hoot of an owl as it closed in on the unfortunate mouse, the eerie chirp of the cricket hiding in the grass, the grass that stirred at the wind's breath. A river sang it's fluid song as it tore at the banks and rushed up and around the few insolent rocks that dared step into it's way, wetting the ferns that dragged their arms and heads in it's water and, below the surface, several fish, little flashes of half-seen silvern moonlight, flitted here and their, dodging the occasional raccoon's hungry claws.

It was far from silent, she thought, slipping easily into the shadows. The same wind that so teasingly played at the trees pushed her dark hood back, exposing her hair to its cool touch. She did not draw her hood back: she found she liked it's touch through her hair.

Tugging her hair out of her cloak, she let it fall around her, for the simple sake of heat: it was warm in the spring night, and she disliked her hair tickling her neck. Moving from tree to tree, shadow to shadow, she came to the riverbank and settled herself on it, letting her fingers casually brush the cool water.

A strand or two of her hair escaped the shadows, flashing in the moonlight. She did not attempt to brush it back, put ignored it. She was waiting, and had much more concerns than her silver tresses gleaming in the moonlight.

She did not have to wait long.

"Ah, I find you at last." a soft, musical voice came from somewhere above her. Looking up, she saw the cloaked figure, hood off, standing above her with a teasing smile on his lips.

"Good evening, Sir Rogue." her humor showed in the teasing smile on her lips and the light in her eyes.

"Good evening, Mistress Silver Hair." A hand gestured to her silvery tresses, gleaming in the moonlight. She stood, purposely moving half into the moonlight, half into the shadow, so that her hair gleamed brightly but her face remained unseen to him.

"It's so nice you could make it." her voice was sweet and soft, yet mocking. She spread her arms before her, and he caught a swift flash of flight in her gleaming teeth.

"Hard to miss an oppertunity like this." he answered with a smile of his own. "What was your mission?"

"Only this-a great artifact, an ancient and powerful item, had been stolen from my family. My Queen will not tolerate it's loss. Your duty, if you accept, will be to retrieve this item."

"What does this, ah, item look like?"

She smiled; he could see her rosy lips. "It is a necklace, a sort of oval thatgoes down, made of a sort of clear crystal with what appears to be black smoke or mist trapped in it. At the middle, nearly hidden by the dark fog,is a sapphire in the shape of a cresent moon. Bringing it closer, and you will see tiny silver runes on the sapphire and the top of the stone, whichis set in silver. It is strung on a fine silver chain with a black clasp. Holding it inyour hand,youwillfeel the cool crystal and almost a warmth, coming from the black smoke, through the crystal."

"Ah. Is this item magical?"

"That is no concern of yours."

He took this to be a 'yes' and stored away this bit of information.

"How much steel are we talking?"

She displayed a slip of paper in her hand. The man took it and read it by the light, sucked in his breath, let it out in a low whistle. Folding the precious slip, tucking it away, he did not miss the laughter in his companion's eyes.

"There! Do you except, Mighty Rogue?" She displayed a beautifully molded hand, white and slim. He took it without hesitation. "Just get the necklace, right, Mistress?"

"Yes."

"Should I kill the bearer?"

She considered this, raising a slender finger to her rubious lips. "If you can help it, no. If the bearer refuses to relinuish the stolen property-my Queen's stolen property!-then do not fear my Queen's wrath if that robber meets an, ah, unfortunate . . . accident." her trilling, musical laugh rang out with the dire words.

He chuckled, bowing to her. "Always a pleasure, Mistress.

"Always a pleasure."

* * *

_What do you think?_

_Please review! Sorry it's taken sooooo long to update!_


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